


there is a fever inside me that burns for you all night through

by smallredboy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotionally Repressed, First Kiss, Internal Monologue, M/M, POV Hannibal Lecter, Pining Hannibal Lecter, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sharing a Bed, Will Graham Has Nightmares, mentioned murder/cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-22 09:37:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: When Hannibal and Will get to a remote cabin, they're informed that there's only one bed.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 207
Collections: Genprompt Bingo Round 17, Prompt Table Challenge: Shippy Building, Trope Bingo: Round Fourteen





	there is a fever inside me that burns for you all night through

**Author's Note:**

> **gen prompt bingo:** alexithymia (obscured emotions)  
>  **trope bingo:** sharing a bed  
>  **shippy building @ creativechallenges:** Leaning into each other and falling asleep
> 
> idk how this is 2.5k. it was supposed to be a short tropey fic. idk what happened!
> 
> also i'm sure that this has been done a hundred times before but has it been this pretentious and internal monologue-y before? probably! but here's my version.
> 
> enjoy!

It's not like they have the luxury of choice.

That's what Hannibal keeps telling himself as he gets into the desolate cabin in the woods, a man reading through a book in a counter. He doesn't think anyone has ever come here and rented a bedroom, except for people who are in the run like him and Will are.

He swallows and gives Will a curt nod.

"Hey, we'd… like a room," Will says to the man on the counter. He has bright green eyes, staring down at his book before he looks up and gazes at them. He raises his plucked brows, eyes wide. "I don't think there's signal here," Will says, stepping closer to him. "But if you try and call the FBI—"

"I do not plan to," the man soothes, shaking his head. "Most of the people who come here are on the run, anyway. My prices are cheap. I do have something unfortunate to share with you two, though."

Hannibal's lips purse. "What is it?"

"I have heard of the rumors about you two, but— there is only one bed in the available room."

He tries not to seem affected by those news, but he can't help but glance off at Will, searching for a reaction. He looks mildly displeased, brows furrowed just a little. He doesn't seem too annoyed, though. Perhaps he's already thinking about where to sleep, if the sofa would be comfortable enough, if there even is one and if he should just sleep on the floor.

He's not letting Will do that.

He shakes his head. "It is no problem," he says, sliding the money toward the counter. "We will get settled, now."

"Of course," the man nods, giving them the key to the room. "Have a nice evening."

As soon as they're inside the room, Hannibal swallows thickly. The bed is, well, naturally it's just one bed— but it's also awfully small. The luxury of his past life is all gone, now that they're on the run. He has to get used to things like this, and to be so  _ close _ to Will.

It's not that he minds being close to Will. In fact, it has always been his objective, his goal to be close to him. But he's worried about what Will's opinion on it is. He did pull them off a cliff, the two of them. It's a wonder that they survived. God had looked down upon them, and decided that they should keep on living. 

He's not sure why, but he's not one to question Him.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Will says immediately.

The couch is, too, very small. Definitely not apt for someone to sleep in.

"No you aren't," Hannibal says. "It looks terribly uncomfortable."

"Yeah, and the bed looks  _ terribly small _ ," he points out, bite in his voice. 

Hannibal shrugs. "I am sure we can figure it out, Will," he says. "There's things more important than if our bodies bump together while we sleep. Namely, how to deal with our status as runaways."

"I can worry about many things at the same time," Will says. "If you don't want me to sleep in the couch, then you can sleep in the couch."

He sighs. He doesn't know how he didn't expect this to happen. It's a conundrum, and a conundrum Will be awfully stubborn about, as he is with most things he does or believes.

"Well," he says. "You can sleep in the couch, if that's your prerogative."

He can see what's going to happen. Will's nightmares are there every damn night, from what he's gathered, so he can scoop him in his arms when he has a nightmare while on the couch, waking them both up. And then he can hold him.

Bedelia had talked to him about his obsession with Will. Bedelia had hinted at how deeply non-platonic those feelings seemed. He had never replied to those suggestions; he didn't want to think about it for too long. He just wanted Will, in all ways possible. Ever since they first met, the need to  _ have _ him overwhelmed him.

And now he has him. Now he has corrupted him. He's broken, and he's a killer, and he's stranded with him.

He'd read the news, the TattleCrime article. The murder husbands on the run together. It sounds a lot more romantic than it really is.

"It is," Will replies as he slowly undresses. He's still bloody, dried blood all over him. "I'm going to take a shower, first. Blood isn't good for the skin."

Hannibal grins at him, tilts his head. "Oh, it isn't?"

Will laughs, rolls his eyes. "I've heard it isn't. I don't know, maybe it is good for  _ your _ skin." He reaches for the bathroom door ."Don't creep on me."

"I won't," he says. 

He doesn't. It seems like it takes a hundred years, but eventually Will comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

He looks intently at the door as Will changes into his boxers and his cotton t-shirt. He knows he's done far worse things to Will than turn and watch him as he changes, but it still feels forbidden. Especially now that they're so close and yet so far from what he wants for the two of them.

_ It's beautiful, _ Will had said, clinging onto him desperately, eyes wide. And then he had pushed them both off the cliff. He hasn't asked, not sure how to talk about what had happened with the Red Dragon, but it feels as if Will thought the only way to save himself from becoming a cold-blooded murderer (even though he already was one) was death. And he hadn't died.

They are both alive, struggling. They're not even struggling because of the FBI being on their tail or anything remotely reasonable; no, they're struggling because they're at a remote cabin with only one bed in the only bedroom.

Will clears his throat. "You can turn around, now."

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and turns, Will in his cotton t-shirt and his boxers, injuries still there but dry and bloodless. There's droplets of water on his nice curls, framing his face in a way that makes him look nothing short of angelic.

Hannibal nods. "I will go get a shower too, now, Will," he says, heading to the bathroom.

The water is warm, but not awfully so. He stays there for longer than he should, almost like he's stopping himself from the reality of the situation. Of the fact he will coax Will into sleeping in the same bed as him. The thought makes his whole body light up, warmth spreading all over him in a way it really never has before.

Bedelia had told him that he must not be used to this.

And he isn't. He can't recall an adoration anywhere near what he feels for Will beforehand. Will is, in some way, his first love. He used to make him feel like those grade schoolers, always said to be 'pulling pigtails' because they like a girl. His kind of pulling pigtails involved far worse than the idiom does, mind you, but it is still comparable. Now he doesn't want to ruin his life— he already has done that to himself by pushing them off the cliff.

He just wants him. He wants to kill with him.

When the water starts to run cold, he gets out of the shower and wraps a towel around himself. He puts on some clean boxers the cabin's owner had handed him. He had plenty of spare clothes, although some were a bit too small or a bit too big. He must be used to having people on the run at his door, he surmises.

He doesn't bother with a cotton t-shirt like Will does, walking out of the bathroom as he dries himself off. "Are there any spare blankets?" he asks. "For your couch, of course."

Winter is near, licking at their feet. He hasn't really spotted a heater, although the cabin probably needs one.

"I found one while you were showering," Will says, showing him the blanket. 

"It is far too thin to properly keep you warm, isn't it?" he asks.

Will rolls his eyes. "I have spent nights cold before," he says. "Unlike you. Boatyards, remember?"

He laughs a little. "Yes, indeed. Boatyards." He sighs. "We should get to bed soon."

He nods. "That we should."

Sleep comes to him easy, as easy as it is for any loud noise to wake him up. He's always been a light sleeper; Will waking up and going to get some water from the bathroom will most definitely stir him awake. His plan will go as he wants it to — he'll get Will in the same bed as him. Hell, maybe he can even coax him into not keeping as much distance as possible between them.

The thought makes him warm as ever. He tries to ignore it before he falls asleep.

He wakes up to the sound of wood creaking. He looks up and looks around. "Will?" he calls out.

Will's cotton t-shirt is soaked in sweat. "Sorry," he apologizes. "I'm, uh, had a nightmare. I'll get some water."

Even through the comfortable bed and the sheets, he can tell just how cold the middle of the night is, it seeping into his bones and making him shiver. But Will doesn't say anything about the cold, as much as he's hugging himself as he heads toward the bathroom. 

Hannibal stays there for what feels like hours, listening to the clock on the wall tick, second after second, until the bathroom door opens once again. Will's face is newly wet, but if it's from the water he splashed on it, or tears from the nightmare— he can't really tell.

"Are you cold?" he asks, watching him cautiously.

Will swallows as he tries to settle back down on the couch, his fingers twitching from the freezing temperatures. There's nothing that gives him the exact number, but he knows it's close to it. He wants to coax Will gently into bed, pull him right in. His heart aches at the thought.

"Yes," he replies, wrapping the all too thin blanket around himself.

"Come here," he says.

Will scoffs, as much as the sound lacks any bite right now, with his shaking hands and wet face. "I'm not sleeping in the same bed as you."

"You will get a cold, Will," he says. "The bed is warm. We don't have to touch any more than is necessary."

Will seems to doubt for several seconds, brows furrowed together as if debating his options. It's not like there are many.

"You promise?" he asks, tilting his head as he fiddles with the blanket.

"I promise." He smiles at him. The moonlight gives him only a vague semblance of Will's factions, but he seems to relax a little. "And I never break my promises, do I, Will?"

Will sighs and stands up, getting into the bed and letting out a sigh of relief at the warmth. "You don't. Now… we should sleep." He pauses as he gets comfortable, a hand on the back of the pillow as he rests his head on it.

Naturally, he puts his back to Hannibal. As impersonal as possible, even though there's little room for it in the bed. It is far too small. 

"I'm sorry for waking you up," he says, again, not looking at him.

"Don't worry about it, Will," he soothes. "I'm a light sleeper, anyway. Rain can be too loud and it can wake me up."

Will snorts, burying his face on the pillow. "That must be a hassle."

"Trust me, it is."

They stay silent for several minutes, looking away from each other. Hannibal wants to keep his promise— he has never dared to break a promise, they are powerful things— but all he wants is to wrap his arms around Will, to hold him through a nightmare, to soothe him back to sleep, press kisses to his face.

It's overwhelming. He's never wanted to touch someone like this ever, in his life. Much less this strongly.

He puts his back to Will's own, closes his eyes and tries to ignore the beating of his heart. How Will and him are just an inch, maybe less, from touching each other, from being  _ intimate _ . The thought makes his head fuzzy with abandon, with want. It's a strange feeling. He wishes he could go to Bedelia about it.

He focuses on the sound of the clock. How the clock hands go on and on. He can't seem to fall asleep, every attempt at it being interrupted by the fact he is keenly aware of just how close he is to Will Graham.

Slowly, he feels Will shift, the bed dipping beneath him.

"Thank you," Will says, voice raspy and vaguely Southern, as he pulls himself closer to him. "Thank you for keeping your promise."

He leans into the back of Hannibal's neck.

Hannibal is so shocked he can barely breathe, but he gives him a nod. Will had come to him. Will is sleeping there, right next to him, bodies close together, Will's nose by his shoulder. His whole body is on flames, with how warm he feels, inside out.

It's an odd feeling. But it's good.

He falls asleep, struggling the urge to wake Will and question him.

The next morning, he wakes up to the sound of the water running. He sits on the bed for several minutes, mind fuzzy with memories of last night's happenings. Will thanking him, Will leaning against him and falling asleep against him. The memory makes him feel like he's going to explode with the need for  _ something _ . He's had such strong cravings before, but they've never been positive. They've never not been directed to awfully rude people.

Will comes out of the bathroom, and he smiles at Hannibal, eyes glinting.

"Ah," Hannibal says. "You knew I'd coax you into bed."

Will nods, starting to dress himself. "I knew I'd have a nightmare, and that it'd be cold, and that you'd 'coax' me into bed. I was just waiting for you to cuddle up to me even when I was 'against' it."

"I wouldn't do that to you," Hannibal says, tilting his head.

Will laughs. "You have no room to say what you wouldn't do to me. Not after all we've been gone through."

He can't help but laugh, too. "Fair enough. Say, do you wish for it to go any further than you lying against me?"

He grins from ear to ear, walking up to him, droplets of water falling onto Hannibal's abdomen. "Oh, of course I do."

Will kisses him, warm like the morning sun, and he can't help but think about how he'll have to speak about this development with Bedelia. Perhaps after he fulfills his promise of eating her.

He cups Will's face with his hands, rubbing at his beard as he kisses him, again and again.

"Bedelia asked me if I ache for you," he tells him. "And… I do, indeed, ache for you."

"I ache for you too," he replies.

"Oh, I'm well aware," Will says.

He pulls right back into bed. "I think you owe me some cuddling," Will continues.

Hannibal can't help but grin as he leans in and wraps his arms around Will's frame. "I think so."


End file.
